Says, "Strike the blow, ye headsman, boy, And that right speedilie; 150 It's never be said here gaes a knight, Was ance condemn'd to die." The head was ta'en frae young Waters, And mony tears for him shed; But mair did mourn for fair Margaret, 155 As raving she lyes mad. LAMMIKIN. See p. 94. Finlay's _Scottish Ballads_, ii. 47. Lammikin was as gude a mason As ever hewed a stane; He biggit Lord Weire's castle, But payment gat he nane. "Sen ye winna gie me my guerdon, lord, 5 Sen ye winna gie me my hire, This gude castle, sae stately built, I sall gar rock wi' fire. "Sen ye winna gie me my wages, lord, Ye sall hae cause to rue:" 10 And syne he brewed a black revenge, And syne he vowed a vow. The Lammikin sair wroth, sair wroth, Returned again to Downe; But or he gaed, he vow'd and vow'd, 15 The castle should sweep the ground. "O byde at hame, my gude Lord Weire, I weird ye byde at hame; Gang na to this day's hunting, To leave me a' alane. 20 "Yae night, yae night, I dreamt this bower O red, red blude was fu'; Gin ye gang to this black hunting, I sall hae cause to rue." "Wha looks to dreams, my winsome dame? 25 Nae cause hae ye to fear:" And syne he kindly kissed her cheek, And syne the starting tear. Now to the gude green-wood he's gane, She to her painted bower; 30 But first she closed the windows and doors Of the castle, ha', and tower. They steeked doors, they steeked yetts, Close to the cheek and chin; They steeked them a' but a wee wicket, 35 And Lammikin crap in. "Where are the lads o' this castle?" Says the Lammikin; "They are a' wi Lord Weire, hunting," The false nourice did sing. 40 "Where are the lasses o' this castle?" Says the Lammikin; "They are a' out at the washing," The false nourice did sing. "But where's the lady o' this castle?" 45 Says the Lammikin; "She is in her bower sewing," The false nourice did sing. "Is this the bairn o' this house?" Says the Lammikin; 50 "The only bairn Lord Weire aughts," The false nourice did sing. Lammikin nipped the bonnie babe, While loud false nourice sings; Lammikin nipped the bonnie babe, 55 Till high the red blude springs. "Still my bairn, nourice, O still him if ye can:" "He will not still, madam, For a' his father's lan'." 60